


Falling in Autumn

by fangirlSevera



Series: A Man for All Seasons [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teachers, College professors, Contractor - Freeform, Dating, Fluff, Getting Together, Halloween, M/M, Romance, Scones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2596451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlSevera/pseuds/fangirlSevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Phil Coulson is expecting to spend his Fall break like he always does: staying home alone, grading papers and maybe baking.</p><p>Those plans are derailed when his new (and incredibly attractive) neighbor asks to borrow a rake. </p><p>Through meddling friends, and a series of seasonally-themed dates, Phil starts to learn to overcome his relationship insecurities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling in Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in parts on [my tumblr](http://fangirlasplosian.tumblr.com/tagged/Fall-Romance-AU). But now all together! With the added bonus of having been through a beta's (the ever helpful and reliable [cruelest_month](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month)) polish, and an extra scene of dialog near the end (which my beta has not seen...).
> 
> There's allusions to past Phil Coulson/John Garrett, but it is incredibly past and allusional, so I deemed not to tag it. Which brings me to
> 
> WARNING: mentions of a past emotionally abusive relationship. No details are given, but still.

The sun was shining. A crisp breeze rattled dry leaves across the sidewalk. The distant, woody taste of burning leaves wafted through the air. It was an absolutely perfect day to pull on one’s favorite sweater and sit out on one’s front porch with a hot mug of coffee.

Which was exactly what Phil Coulson was doing. He had mid-term papers to grade and a spring syllabus to finalize, but for now he could take the time to enjoy the season in its prime. He took a deep breath and a long drink of his dark roast coffee, closing his eyes in contentment.

The ambiance was interrupted by the nearby slamming of a screen door. Phil opened his eyes and glanced over at his neighbor. Until a couple months ago, the little house had been unoccupied for some time. After the little old lady who had been Phil’s (and Phil’s mother’s) neighbor for decades had passed away it had been up for sale with no takers. It was quite a small house. It wasn’t suitable for a family, except a childless couple with no intentions of expanding. And in this day and age, single people weren’t exactly looking to or able to own homes. It was then a surprise (and undeniable delight) when the For Sale sign was taken down and a young man (younger than Phil at least), took residence.

That it was an attractive young man, was just a bonus.

Not that it amounted to much. Sure, Phil had done the proper, neighborly thing and introduced himself while Clint Barton was moving boxes out of his car. Beyond that, they really didn’t interact aside from passing waves and acknowledging nods as they went about their own business. Just as well, when a week after Clint settled in, a red-headed woman started coming by occasionally. Not co-habitating didn’t actually mean single, after all.

Clint was standing on his own front porch, surveying his yard with a frown. Phil surreptitiously watched out of the corner of his eye as Clint put one hand on his hip and the other rubbed the back of his neck. The pose made Phil take particular note of the muscles of his raised arm, the fit of the jeans his left hand was resting above. Clint shifted his stance, turning in Phil’s direction, and Phil became enraptured with the bright colors of the trees across the street.

So determined to ignore his periphery, he was startled by an all-too-close throat clearing. Whipping his head back around, Phil found Clint only a couple feet away, standing in his driveway.

"Sorry!" Clint said, smiling up at Phil with a sheepish grin. "Don’t mean to bother you, but- uh-" He twisted at the waist to look back at his yard, Phil had to grit his teeth to stop himself making an embarrassing noise at the play of back muscles, obvious under the tight t-shirt. "My yard is drowning in leaves and my only rake’s all bent and busted." Clint turned back to him, and Phil quickly schooled his expression. "So, I was hoping you’d let me borrow yours? If you have one. Or a leaf blower, or I dunno, maybe you mulch…" He started rubbing his neck again.

"Yes!" Phil blurted. Clint’s awkward shuffling was bordering on adorable and needed to stop. "You can borrow a rake, I mean." Phil took a sip of his coffee, hoping the steam would explain his sudden flush.

Clint’s expression eased into pleased relief, his grin lopsided. "Cool."

Coffee still clutched in hand, Phil led Clint around the back of the house to the garden shed. Phil hadn’t been in such close proximity to him since they shook hands on Clint’s first day in the neighborhood. Had his eyes been so blue and green then? Surely Phil wouldn’t have missed or forgotten something like that. Phil handed off a yard rake, careful to avoid brushing Clint’s (big, rough) hand. It was best that they were merely acquaintances. Any much more time spent in the man’s presence, Phil was certain to make a fool of himself.

"I’ll get it back to you, I promise," Clint said a bit earnestly, as if wanting to reassure Phil he wasn’t going to steal it.

"No hurry. I have spares." In fact, Clint could probably keep it, and Phil wouldn’t miss it. But such an offer seemed too much of a gesture at the moment.

Clint grinned. "Still, I owe you one." He then winked before heading back towards his house.

Phil swallowed thickly, watching him go, and took another swig of his cooling coffee. He considered heading back to the front porch, but could already imagine Clint out there, arms flexing as he used the rake. Then, to gather up the pile of leaves into the yard waste bag, bending over in those jeans and-

Phil shook his head. Best to go indoors and close the East-facing drapes lest he give into the temptation and become a full-on creeper of a neighbor.

\----

Autumn wasn’t all comfortably cool days and bright skies. Since Phil had woken up, a blanket of dark clouds hung heavy with the promise of rain. The wind had turned brisk, and the temperature was struggling to get close to 50. A dampness permeated the walls of the house, and Phil stared at the thermostat, debating whether or not it was too early in the season to justify turning on the heat.

The darkness inside and out was leaving Phil with a moroseness that occasionally still hit around this time of year. He was left remembering similar days, being in this same house, home sick from school with a cold. His mother would in the kitchen, preparing him something warm and comforting. Taking the house after his mother died had been economical, and he did not regret it. But sometimes the weight of nostalgia and memories ingrained in the walls seeped out on the grayer, colder days.

But remembering those days also made Phil turn away from the thermostat and go to the kitchen. In a drawer was his mother’s box of recipe cards, all yellowed over time. He didn’t use them often, no need when there was only himself to cook for. But there was one in particular that would help warm the house up, and perhaps even improve his mood.

The oven was preheating next to him while he mixed and kneaded the dough chased the chills away. He placed the baking sheet in the oven, then started the coffee maker. He was about to settle down at the kitchen table with his mid-terms still in need of grading when there was a knock at the back door. He peered around the thin curtain on the door, surprised to see Clint standing there in the fine drizzle that had just started. Phil opened the door with a curious, "Hi?"

Clint looked startled. "Oh! You are home. I- uh- Rake." He practically thrust the wooden handle at Phil’s face.

"Thank you. You didn’t have to come over here in the rain just for that." He took it out of Clint’s hand and just left it leaning against the side of the house.

"Yeah…" Clint ducked his head. "I noticed your kitchen light on, and you’re not usually here in the middle of the day on a Monday, and I thought I could, you know, check and make sure it wasn’t someone snooping around, or if it was you I did still have your rake."

The rain was starting to come down in earnest, and Phil realized that while he stood there with the door open, staring at Clint as he rambled, he was also being a bit of dick, keeping the other man on the porch getting wet (not that wasn’t a good look on him). "Thank you," Phil repeated. He licked his lips, girding himself for what he was about to say next. "W-would you like to come in?"

"I don’t want to intrude…"

"You wouldn’t! Unless, I’m sure you have other things…"

"No. Uh, sure." Phil stepped back out of the doorway. Clint hesitated a moment more. "My shoes are wet."

"There’s a mat," Phil reassured him, finding such simple consideration charming.

"Right, of course" Clint muttered to himself, crossing the threshold, and Phil found his breath leaving him because Clint was in his house.

Clint wiped his feet with due diligence. Satisfied that they were clean enough to venture further, he lifted his head and sniffed. "Something smells fantastic! Are you baking?"

Phil led him the short distance to the kitchen. "Pumpkin scones. I always make too much for just myself, so it’s good you’re here and they don’t end up as squirrel food." Or he’d pile half the batch on a plate and force them on Melinda.

"I’ve never had scones before. Is that something I have to hold my pinky up while I eat?"

"Only if we were having tea. Luckily, I only have coffee. Want some?"

"I’d love some," Clint said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Black."

"I make it strong," Phil warned.

"I think I can take it." Was Clint leering or was Phil imagining it? He was just happy that he didn’t spill any coffee on Clint in his distraction. Clint took a drink and hummed. "Strong, bitter, and nutty." He smirked like there was a joke in that, but wasn’t sharing.

There was a few minutes silence as Clint continued drinking at the table, and Phil stood at the counter, fixing his own mug. Phil couldn’t decide if it was completely awkward.

"Homework?" Clint asked, eying the papers strewn over the table.

"You can say that," Phil said with a sigh.

"High school?"

Phil shook his head. "I’m up at the college."

"A professor. Of course," he said quietly, mostly to himself, "Of course."

Before Phil could ask what he meant by that, the buzzer went off on the oven. He had to bend over to slide the hot tray out, and behind them there was a choking sound. He quickly put the scones down and turned around to find Clint red-faced and in the middle of a coughing fit. "Are you okay?" He asked, alarmed.

Clint nodded hurriedly. "I’m fine." He rasped. "Just coffee. Wrong pipe." He coughed a couple more times and shook his head.

"Here." Phil handed him a glass of water from the tap all the same. Satisfied Clint wasn’t about to asphyxiate in the middle of the kitchen, Phil went back to the counter and transferred the scones to the cooling tray.

"Those will need a couple more minutes," Phil said, taking his seat with his coffee. He pushed his students’ papers aside. He looked across the table, the object of his reawakening libido just sitting right there in front of him, smiling at Phil reassuringly. And Phil felt ashamed of ever thinking of him just the eye-candy next door and not previously taken the time to actually get to know him. So far he’d been very sweet and a little awkward (pots and kettles though). As they sat together in his cozy kitchen, Phil was starting to feel a little less jittery. He wasn’t a teenager trying to talk to his first crush. They were both grown men perfectly capable of common conversation.

"So, is it normal for you to be home on a Monday?" Phil asked.

"Not really. Today’s just not a good day to be up on someone’s roof."

"No," Phil agreed. "Do you do all kinds of home repair?"

Clint nodded. "Inside and out. Being flexible helps keep me employed even during the colder months."

The word "flexible" made Phil’s brain go back to hormonal teen mode for a moment. "The scones should be ready," he said, before something inappropriate spilled out of him.

He put one on a napkin and handed it Clint. He sniffed it first. He took a bite, and the moan he made was absolutely breaking Phil’s resolve to not be thinking pervy thoughts about his neighbor. But Clint had his eyes closed and he slumped in his chair, making another blissed-out moan. "These are incredible!" He looked at Phil with something like awe. "Fuck man, first you lend me a rake, now you’re feeding me the best homemade pastries I’ve ever tasted in my life? I owe you like, a lot."

So much for not feeling like a nervous teenager. Phil could feel his heart speeding up. "No need," he managed to get out around his tightening throat. "Just being neighborly."

Clint blinked once, the glee in his expression fading as he swallowed his last bite. "Neighborly. Of course." He glanced away, no longer looking at Phil, and pushed himself from the table. "Rain’s letting up. I should get going."

"You don’t have to." Clint shook his head and stood. "I’m sorry, did I-"

"No," Clint insisted, but didn’t meet Phil’s eye. "You’ve been perfect...ly nice."

"Wait, you should take some with you." Phil grabbed a plastic container and piled some scones in. "Maybe share them with your friend."

Clint accepted the scones Phil handed him. "Yeah, Nat will love these. I’ll see myself out."

Phil watched him leave his house, then looked out the window and watched Clint cross the yards back to his own home, his head down the entire way. Phil couldn’t completely convince himself it was in deference to the cold.

Phil banged his head against a cabinet then fished out his phone from his jean’s pocket. "Guess who made too many scones," he said when Melinda answered.

"I’m currently under two blankets, and I refuse to move."

"I can be over in half an hour."

"What did you do?"

Phil bit back a whine. Melinda didn’t tolerate whining. "I’ll tell you about how stupid I’ve been when I get there."

She sighed. "Fine. But only because you’re bringing food."

The rain returned with the full force of easterly winds behind it by the time Phil pulled up outside Melinda May’s home. He knocked as a courtesy, the key she gave him already opening the door. He didn’t have to call out, she was expecting him, and he knew where she was.

The fireplace in the living room was alight, and Melinda was curled up in her armchair, one blanket wrapped around her shoulders, another over her lap. She was cocooned to the point that only her hands (in fingerless knit gloves) poked out between them so she could handle her book. Originally from California, Melinda hadn't quite acclimated to the extreme, and frequently sudden, changes in weather in the eastern half of the country.

She raised a silent eyebrow in greeting. Phil fruitlessly wiped at the water that collected on the lid of his Tupperware, and held it out in offering. She set her book aside, and took it from him, hands and container disappearing under the blankets. "So?" She asked.

Phil sat on the love seat, and rubbed his hands against his thighs. "So, remember how old Mrs. Wilson's house finally sold before the semester started?"

"By a gorgeous guy you refuse to talk to." There was an unmistakable popping sound coming from her lap, but she didn't look away from him.

"Well, no. Because I have. He was even in my home.''

"And then he turned out to be an asshole?"

"I wish! Then I could just move on. But no. He had to be sweet and charming."

"And the problem is you weren't?"

"I don't know! I didn't think so. One minute he's making orgasmic noises about the damn scones-"

"Understandable," she said, popping a torn-off bite into her mouth. She was able to contain her enjoyment to a pleased hum.

"And the next he couldn't get out of there fast enough."

"And what did you say between those two minutes?"

Phil narrowed his eyes at her. It had been years since she gave up her counseling practice to teach psychology instead. But old habits died hard with her, and sometimes he needed her clinical, rather than sympathetic, ear to work out his own mess of feelings. "Nothing! He was being really grateful about a rake, and baking, and owing me, and I said it's just what neighbors do."

Melinda huffed, and the blankets shifted as her shoulders dropped. "He was flirting with you and you shot him down." She didn't call him "stupid," but her look more than implied it.

"No! He... I... People don't flirt with me." He said in a quiet rush.

Melinda's expression became even less impressed. "They do. You choose to ignore it because the last guy you took a chance on turned out to be a psychopath."

"Oh, are you officially diagnosing again?"

"Are you trying to deflect?"

Yes, the catastrophe of his last relationship had left Phil with some trust issues that made him not want to actively pursue anything else for some time. And Clint didn't seem like a manipulative liar with a cruel streak, but then, neither had John at first.

"Ask him out," she commanded.

Phil grimaced. "But what if he hadn't been flirting?"

"Then he'll reject you. Which you may find as a relief. And if you're afraid of making things awkward... Well, could it be any more awkward than how things are right now?"

"Do you ever get tired of being right?"

"Yes, and even more so when people don't listen to me when I am. Speaking of, I have papers to grade. Don't you?"

"I was going to. Before Clint. They're still on the kitchen table."

"Clint Thing first. Don't grade distracted. First Years will seem more eloquent than they are."

Phil drove home, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say to Clint. He tried imagining himself standing at his back (or front?) door, knocking. Would Clint even answer? What was the appropriate time to wait? Should he bring more food in apology? Does he need to have someplace in mind already if he's going to ask him a date? Because he doesn't. What if-

Phil pulled into his driveway and groaned. What if Clint already has company? The car Phil recognized as belonging to the pretty redhead was sitting next door. Phil killed the engine, and sat there, staring at the steering wheel, berating himself for forgetting this contingency.

The knocking on his window nearly made him hit his head on the roof. Finding Clint's friend on the other side did nothing for his racing heart. She didn't look happy, and she was saying something, but it was muffled through the glass. Cautiously, he rolled the window down part way "I'm sorry?"

"I said, are you okay? You haven't moved in several minutes. We were starting to worry."

Was he really out here feeling sorry for himself that long? And- "We?"

She pursed her lips and glowered. Phil was ready to put the window back up. But she straightened and shouted over the top of his car, "I'm not doing any more of this high school shit!" With that she moved away.

Phil twisted in his seat (momentarily caught in the still-engaged seat belt), and saw her storm towards Clint who was leaning against the hood of her car, shoulders hunched, and hands stuffed his pockets. They exchanged a few words, her motioning in Phil's direction. He climbed out of his car, not liking to be the subject of an argument he couldn't hear.

Both Clint and his friend looked up at the sound of the door opening. She grabbed Clint's wrist, and despite being smaller, forcibly pulled him along. She placed him directly in front of Phil, hand still around him as if she thought he'd run away without it. "Mr. Coulson, Clint would like you to know that your scones, and I quote, 'Taste like if Fall had a cock and I was sucking it.'"

It was hard to say if Phil or Clint spluttered louder and flushed harder.

She let go of Clint at last, saying, "I'm going now. It was nice to finally meet you," she said to Phil with a quick nod. Neither man watched her leave, even when her car started.

"Sorry about Nat. She, uh-"

"Did you really say-"

They stopped, stared at each other, and both laughed nervously. "Yeah, I may have," Clint admitted. "Sorry."

"No, it's very poetic."

Clint's grin widened. "So you must not teach English then."

Phil took a breath. "Clint, do you-"

"Yes!" Clint's eyes widened. "Oh, I hope you were asking me out, and not like asking if I could redo your flooring."

"I was. Asking you out I mean." Phil licked his lips (and noticed Clint watching), "But I don't really have an idea about where or when. I'm usually more prepared than this."

"Hey, that's okay. We can totally come up with something later. Just nice to know you like me." He cringed. "Dammit, Nat's right, I am being a damn kid."

Phil sighed, being unfortunately reminded: "I do have work I've been putting off all day, I'm sorry."

Clint smirked. "I know. Talk to you tomorrow though?"

Phil agreed and happily watched Clint walk back to his house for more than one reason. Once Phil was inside his own door, he leaned against it and pulled out his phone. "Oh, God." He said after the other line stopped ringing.

"I'm busy." Melinda's voice softened, "but congratulations."

\----

The skies weren’t any clearer the next day, but the rain had fully stopped. Unshaven and bleary-eyed, Phil put the day’s mail out first thing. Clint was loading up his pick-up truck, clattering loudly in the still morning air. Clint looked up, spotted Phil, his greeting smile widened as he took in the Captain America sleep pants Phil was still wearing. Phil smiled back and gave a little wave, refusing to be embarrassed. After all, depending on how things progressed with Clint, he was going to know about the sleep pants (among other items) eventually. Clint climbed into the cab of his truck and beeped his horn a couple times in farewell, rolling out into the street and off to work.

Phil went about his own morning routine, taking advantage of his time off to do so leisurely. Arming himself with a full pot of freshly brewed coffee, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer, and it was time to get back to grading his midterms.

Papers from his Intro to Military History class was a mixed bag. There were those who managed high grades with minimum effort in high school and have yet to realize college was a much different and harder game. Others who thought the only proof reading they needed to do was right click on the red squiggly lines in Word. But there were the ones who actually had a passion for the subject and managed to have critical thought beyond spewing back facts from the textbook.

Halfway through the stack, Phil paused for a break, setting down his green correcting pen (he had attended a conference that said that the traditional red was far too aggressive and discouraging). The clock above his desk had not progressed as far as he had been hoping. It wasn’t too early for lunch, he justified, stretching his neck and shoulders.

He sat at the kitchen table with a hastily made ham sandwich. It was hard to believe it was only yesterday he had Clint sitting right across for him, having their uncoordinated conversation.

He wondered what time Clint got off work, and the conversation they had promised to have. Phil had done the asking, so he supposed it was up to him to set the place and time. But if Clint had some ideas of his own, Phil was going to be open to it.

"Now what?" He had asked Melinda over the phone the previous night.

"Now you go out someplace public together and spend money. Maybe even hold hands."

"That’s not helpful," he'd complained.

Phil finished his sandwich and reheated coffee. He looked at the time again and sighed. Back to students who still thought Hannibal was just that hot cannibal guy from TV.

Phil did finish the Intro class’ papers that day. He was grabbing a celebratory beer from the fridge when there was a knock at the back door. He quickly peaked out the kitchen window. Clint’s truck was back in the driveway. Phil hadn’t heard him pull in, and he had even been keeping an ear out. He took a quick drink of his beer hoping it’d calm his nerves.

Out on the back porch, Clint had changed from his work clothes into clean jeans and a purple sweater. He looked and smelled recently showered. He looked ready for a date already, not just finalizing plans.

"Hi," Phil said, trying not to sound too giddy, and took a step back in invitation.

"Hey," Clint returned. His smiled dropped when he took a good look at Phil’s face. "Glasses."

Phil touched his frames self-consciously. "Lots of work today." He started to slide them off.

"No!" Clint blurted. He bit his lip. "I like them."

Well in that case- Phil set them more firmly on his nose. "I was just about to have a beer, you want one?"

"That would be awesome."

They made a pit stop in the kitchen for the beer, then Phil continued leading Clint further into the house. The days were already getting pretty short, even without daylight saving’s time ending yet. The constant cloudiness didn’t help, and Phil already had to turn on more lights before it was even 5:00 p.m. Clint took in his surroundings with an assessing eye. Phil wondered if he was thinking about structural integrity or just the décor. He didn’t have many visitors outside Melinda, Nick, and the occasional other faculty member stopping by. Phil was glad he had run the vacuum and did a quick once-over with a Swiffer a couple days ago.

"Nice," was Clint’s final judgment.

Phil sat on the loveseat and gestured for Clint to do the same. Phil grabbed a couple coasters from a stack and slid one over for Clint. Clint set his beer down and rubbed the condensation off his hand against his thigh.

"Good day at work?" Phil asked.

Clint chuckled. "Yeah. Even with the rain yesterday, we’re on schedule. And the weather looks like it’ll hold out for the rest of the week."

"That’s good."

"You?"

"I’m making progress."

Clint nodded. "Good."

Phil laughed. "Okay, now that’s out of the way."

Clint was laughing, too. His face was always nice to look at, but the way it lit up with his wide smile, was even harder to look away from.

Clint cleared his throat. "I suppose you’re a traditional Friday or Saturday night at some nice restaurant kind of guy."

In all honesty, he never tried it any other way, but…"I don’t have to be."

"It’s just, I was at the bank, and they had these booklets of local seasonal activities on a counter." He pulled out a rolled-up booklet from his back pocket. "The stuff in here… I’ve never really done, but looked kinda fun." He opened it on the coffee table and tried to flatten it out.

The book had travel destinations for about the surrounding sixty miles or so. Most of them were the sort of activities Phil associated with family outings and school trips: Apple orchards, pumpkin patches, and hayrides. But nor was there anything about them that said two adults couldn’t enjoy them as well.

Next to him, Clint was looking eager and anxious. The longer Phil took reading and not saying anything, Clint's anxiety overcame the eagerness and he started sliding the booklet away. Phil put his own hand firmly on it to stop him. "Which one did you want to do first?"

Clint’s enchanting grin returned to full wattage. Phil’s heart lurched in way he hadn’t felt in a long time. That wasn’t a fully welcome sensation. Nothing good ever came from falling too fast. Especially when they were still virtual strangers. But then he had implicitly agreed to more than one date already.

"Corn maze looks cool," Clint answered. "It’s even some kind of huge picture. Never thought corn could be art."

Clint stayed until he finished his beer. Phil talked a little bit about his classes at Clint’s prompting. Clint told Phil about his current job, and the next one he had lined-up, and how he’d also been making some repairs and improvements on his own place.

"You can come over anytime and check it out." He stood and stretched his arms. His sweater rose just enough to reveal a sliver of muscled abs. Phil carefully swallowed his last bit of beer. "Well, I suppose I ought to- Oh, hey! We don’t even have each others phone numbers yet."

Phil gladly exchanged phones to put their info in. When he handed it back, Clint immediately held it up. "Got to get your photo," he explained. Phil could only hope he was not looking too dorky when the camera clicked.

"Now do me." Clint’s smirk turned sly as he realized his choice of words. It was absolutely what Phil wanted a photo of.

"Cool." Clint was smiling down at his phone. "So, talk to you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," Phil agreed.

After seeing Clint out, he looked at the new pic on his phone again. He was starting to realize, with some horror, that he could no longer judge the way his students with a boyriend or girlfriend would giggle over their phones between classes. He knew his own smile was smitten, edging on ridiculous.

\----

Friday was sunny with only the slightest southerly breeze. Clint had called the previous night, letting Phil know his roofing job was done and had a three-day weekend. The farm was going to be less crowded then than on the weekend, Clint suggested, and Phil called ahead to make sure there would be no school trips scheduled to be there.

When Phil knocked on Clint’s door, he opened it wearing dark jeans, a black leather jacket, and a warm smile. Phil was feeling a little under-dressed in his more faded jeans and zip-up fleece sweater. The feeling didn’t last too long, since Clint’s expression was the opposite of disappointment as he gave Phil a once over.

There was a bit of a debate over who was driving: the person who initiated the date, or the one who chose the destination. Phil eventually won after agreeing to let Clint chip in for gas.

It was a thirty-five minute trip. Perhaps more of an effort than a normal first date ought to be. But Clint’s infectious excitement made Phil know that such early effort wasn’t going unappreciated and was well worth it.

Clint teased him a little about the Big Band CDs Phil kept in the car. "You really are into history aren’t you?" But found they could agree on tuning the radio to a station that had a penchant to play 80s pop.

"You know, that’s starting to be considered ‘oldies’ and ‘period film’ material," Phil said.

"Pfft. If people are still alive who can remember it, it isn’t ‘period.’"

"Then you can’t make fun of my swing."

Clint smirked. "You’re not the boss of me."

Their repertoire during the drive was easy, with comfortable silences in between. They covered music, film, and television. Their tastes weren't exactly the same, but no deal breakers either to Phil’s relief. During the silences, Clint stared out the window. He commented on how long stretches of cornfields reminded him of where he grew up (but elaborated no further). They both made appreciative noises at the rolling hills covered in vibrantly colored tress that would pop out from the horizon. It was good to be reminded that the world just outside his home and classroom was actually quite beautiful.

Clint had put their route in his phone and navigated them to their destination. The gravel parking lot had a few cars in it, but not at all close to its capacity. A small stream separated the lot from the farm entrance, and they had to cross a short, wooden footbridge. A small, log hut served as the greeting booth, the activity prices written on a chalkboard. Another debate Clint and Phil had involved paying for the corn maze and other activities. Clint tried to suggest they could pay for themselves like many modern couples do. Call Phil old-fashioned, but to him it wouldn’t feel like a real date if they did that. It would be more like two friends just hanging out for a day, like the three college-age girls (Phil desperately hoped no one from any of his classes happened to choose this place to visit at the end of their break, too) ahead of them were doing.

"You can pay for the next one."

"Getting confident, aren’t you?" Clint quirked an eyebrow.

"Any reason I shouldn’t be?" Phil teased in return.

Clint’s expression turned serious though when he said, "None at all."

They decided to take the corn maze/hayride package. They were handed maps, safety instructions, and something about a side-game where you had to find stakes with a riddle on it. If they found and solved each riddle they could get a free key chain back at the counter. Phil was impressed that the young lady managed to sound enthusiastic about it, despite that she must have had to repeat the entire spiel a hundred times a day over the past several days.

As they approached the maze entrance, Clint promptly folded his map and stuck it in his back pocket. "We don’t need no stinkin’ maps." Then, to Phil’s surprise, Clint hooked his arm through Phil’s elbow, pulling him close. "Wouldn’t want to lose you, though."

Phil squeezed Clint’s arm with his own and smiled. "Same."

They went through the maze without any real focus on how to get out. It was more of a leisurely stroll for them. And if they came across one of the riddle posts, they stopped to solve it together. A couple young families with kids too young to be in full-day schools, and the college girls were the only people they passed in their meandering. The young women must have gotten separated at some point, their voices calling over and between the ten-foot stalks, "Marco!" and "Polo!"

Of course if anyone were to get truly lost, or there was some kind of emergency, tall, lifeguard-like chairs rose high above the maze and were all manned. Also towering above them were poles with horn speakers attached playing country music. Phil and Clint both rolled their eyes when they realized. It was one of things they could agree on musically: a distaste for Country.

They had spent over half-an-hour wandering the winding dirt paths, chatting about work and their friends. Phil was gobsmacked to discover that Clint’s friend Natasha was teaching at the college, too! "I kind of followed her to town. I assumed you knew her already," Clint said with a frown.

Phil shook his head. "Sadly, academia can be a bit cliquey, and we don’t socialize much outside our departments." For all the college’s touting of interdisciplinary degrees, that was left mostly up to the students, not the staff. And since Natasha was tucked away in the performing arts corner of the campus, Phil never ran into her. He supposed it was also what he got for skipping out on the new faculty meet-n-greet at the beginning of the semester.

Which was a perfect segue to tell Clint how he had met Melinda at their own new faculty meet-n-greet their first year at the college. He hadn’t been feeling particularly welcomed. Although the other professors smiled and shook his hand, he could hear their whispers of "nepotism" behind him, since it got out he was friends with the then Associate Dean Nick Fury.

After a while, Melinda had approached him, glass of white wine in her hand, and simply said, "Spiders."

"What the hell was that suppose to mean?" Clint asked. He tugged on Phil’s arm, steering him away from one path and onto another.

"That they were more afraid of me, than I was of them. And that is was definitely true with regards to Melinda. She smiled at a group from the English department, and they, I kid you not, actually cowered."

Clint laughed. "Better hope she never befriends Nat. They’ll rule that campus by instilling fear in the hearts of all." He had quickened their pace, and was making turns more decisively.

"I can imagine."

As Phil had been suspecting, Clint was leading them out of the maze. It was probably less than another five minutes before they came across the exit sign. Phil stepped out into the wider barnyard with a sigh of relief. "How many miles do you think we covered?"

Clint let go of his arm and shrugged. "Want to get off your feet and go on the hayride?"

That sounded like the best idea.

The hayride came around in fifteen minute intervals, and they had another ten minutes to wait. They stopped at one stand for cups of hot apple cider (Phil gave Clint a pointed look when he saw the other man go for his wallet). The barn was opened up as a kind of petting zoo where a bored teenager sat at a card table with Dixie cups of feed for fifty cents each. While Phil found himself giving most of his feed to the fluffy sheep, Clint was more impressed with the alpaca.

Soon the clatter of the wagon and the clomp of hooves could be heard approaching. Phil handed the driver their set of tickets and climbed up into the back. Clint and Phil sat side-by-side on a bale of hay. Around them, a couple of young families settled in, kids climbing over each other, putting straw in their sibling’s hair. Phil felt a little out of place among them, and one dad was definitely giving him and Clint a look. He even pulled the toddler at his hip more firmly against him, lest the kid be contaminated.

As the driver flicked the reins and the horse took it’s first steps forward, the carriage lurched. Clint may have exaggerated the way the motion made him fall against Phil. The glowering man looked ready to comment, but his wife jabbed him in the ribs, whispering harshly in his ear. She turned and smiled at Phil and Clint. Her husband apparently decided his gaze was better suited to the nature around them.

The horse’s gait and their path evened out. Clint stretched an arm out along the rail and wrapped his fingers around Phil’s shoulder in one smooth move. Clint was such a comfortable warmth against him, Phil forgot all about feeling awkward and Disapproving Dad.

The path circled around a small lake on the edge of the farm. The trees made a vibrant canopy above them, the sun filtering through in broken patches. Phil took a deep breath of the damp, earthy air thickened by the wet, fallen leaves.

He turned his head and caught Clint looking at him with a soft smile. "Look at you. Never seen you look relaxed." Clint ducked his head to speak directly into Phil’s ear, breath tickling distractingly. "Makes me wish I bribed the driver to give us a private ride."

Phil curled his fingers into his palm and had to firmly remind himself there was children present. Clint was quietly laughing, smug. Phil found himself using his elbow much in the way the woman had to with her husband earlier.

The carriage came around another bend where the trees opened, no loner obscuring the lake sparkling in the early afternoon sun. Its glassy stillness was broken only by migrating geese dotting its surface. The driver halted the horse, letting the passengers take their fill of the view. The two women held up their phones, taking pictures. He even heard Clint’s phone snap, but when he turned, he wasn’t aiming towards the lake. Clint’s expression and tone were insincerely apologetic when he said, "Sorry."

The driver clicked his tongue and gently flicked the reins, moving them along. The trail once again became tree-covered. A sudden gust of wind rustled the branches and sent a cascade of yellow leaves raining down on them. The children squealed in delight, jumping up, trying to grab them out of the air. Several landed on and got stuck in Clint’s hair. Phil took his revenge and snapped a photo before helping Clint pick them out.

Around the next bend the barn and cornfield came back into view, the ride coming to an end. Before leaving the farm, Clint went back to the animals, apparently to say good-bye to his new alpaca friend. It was too good an image: Clint’s arm stretched up to pat the fluffy head atop a long neck, to not immortalize digitally.

Shadows were lengthening by the time they got back on the highway and headed home. The journey back was quieter, both of them a little tired from all the fresh air and extra exercise. Phil knew he’d probably have sore legs tomorrow, and figured maybe he should take the laundry off his treadmill and start using it again. When he pulled into his driveway and they climbed out of the car, Phil had to bite his lip to keep from groaning at the way his muscles already stiffened while he sat.

But the pain was forgotten when he turned and found Clint smiling at him, arms crossed over the hood of the car. "Walk me to my door?"

"Of course." Phil smiled back.

Clint had his hands in his jacket pocket, and didn’t reach out like he had in the corn maze. So Phil kept his hands to himself as well, but stayed close enough that their shoulders brushed as they crossed driveways. Up on his back porch, Clint unlocked his door, but didn’t open it. "That was fun. You had fun, right?" Clint asked, eyes big and anxious.

It was probably the single best date Phil had ever gone on, not just first ones. But that felt like maybe too much to give. "It was great! Now I know dinners at nice restaurants are actually extremely overrated."

"So…" Clint did that neck rub thing he does when he’s nervous, or uncertain. "You wanna do something next weekend?"

"Something from your travel booklet?"

"We don’t have-"

"What do you want to do Clint?"

"Pumpkin patches are cool, especially since Halloween’s only a coulpa weeks away."

"Sounds perfect."

Clint looked at him with a heartbreaking mix of disbelief and gratitude. He searched Phil’s face, and raked his teeth over his bottom lip, leaving them red. Phil licked his own lips and put a hand on Clint’s elbow. Clint’s breath audibly caught.

Phil tore his gaze away from Clint’s mouth to his eyes, now shadowing in the fading daylight. "Clint, I… I’d like to kiss you."

Clint laughed. Phil took a step back in shock and disappointment. "Aww, Phil, no." Clint reached for him, pulling him back into his personal space. "I didn’t mean-" He shook his head. "It’s just, you’ve got to be the politest guy I ever met. Or at least dated," he said with a little shrug. "Hell yeah, you can kiss me. Permission granted."

They were both smiling when their lips met, Clint’s a little dry, but soft. Phil put his hands on Clint’s shoulders and pressed closer. Clint’s hands slid around Phil’s waist, feeling warm even through the fabric of his sweater. Clint’s lips parted, only slightly. At the briefest touch of his tongue, Phil pulled back with a quiet gasp.

Clint’s hands dropped immediately. "I’m sorry."

Phil swallowed. "No, don’t be. It’s been some time for me. And I-" He had to pause, tried to find the right words to express what he needed without making Clint think he didn’t want him.

"Hey," Clint said gently. He put a hand behind Phil’s neck, and brought him close so their foreheads were touching, warm breaths mingling in the cooling evening air. "No need to get carried away, right?"

Phil closed his eyes in relief and amazement. How could Clint be so perfect? "Right."

Clint let him go. "Have a good night, Phil. See you tomorrow."

Phil searched Clint’s expression for disappointment, and found none. "Good night, Clint."

There was a drawn-out moment of them smiling at each other until Clint nodded once and finally walked through his door.

Phil returned to his own house with a mix of happiness, fear and a touch of anger (at all the "impolite" men Clint’s apparently dealt with) that stuck with him until he fell asleep.

\----

Phil needed Saturday and Sunday to prepare for the return to work on Monday. His thoughts constantly strayed to Clint, though. Wondering what he was doing with his weekend. Wondering if he was thinking about how things went on yesterday’s date like Phil was. Wondering if he was already waiting anxiously for their next one. Like Phil was.

Phil sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He could call Clint and just ask, ending his tortured musings and get back to editing the reading list for his spring classes. Or, he could just finish the editing, and calling Clint would be the incentive for finishing the project, forcing him to concentrate. He was glad that at least his office was on the opposite side of the house, and didn’t have Clint’s windows to constantly stare across at.

Phil was contemplating his dinner options when the phone rang. He grinned down at the display, having already changed his photo for Clint to the one with leaves in his hair. "Hi." Phil knew his grin was audible over the line.

"Heeeyyyy." And Phil could see the crooked grin that had to accompany that. "All ready to go back to school?"

"Only after I take all day tomorrow to sleep."

"Sounds like fun. Sure you don’t want company?"

Phil closed his eyes against the image of having Clint in his bed. Even in a non-sexual way, the thought of having someone else in his space, just being there for warmth and comfort, filled him with a long-forgotten desire.

"Sorry, sorry," Clint was quickly saying. "I know, I promised no getting carried away. But damn Phil, I can’t stop thinking about you. Even when I’m painting the kitchen."

Phil laughed around the other emotions clogging his throat. "So, the bluebird wallpaper wasn’t for you?"

"Not so much." Clint laughed, too.

"I’ve been thinking about you, too," Phil admitted. "And taking things slow doesn’t mean you have to censor yourself around me."

"Well, that’s good. I’m terrible at censoring myself."

\----

Sunday was not as restful as Phil had hoped. He was feeling fidgety. He called Melinda, who told him he maybe needed to understand the difference between nerves and giddiness. "Are you going to tell me it’s okay to allow myself to be happy?" He asked, accusatory.

She scoffed. "I’m not that cliché. Nor am I your therapist."

"I’ll stop coming to you for advice when you stop giving it."

Monday morning arrived. Phil’s students didn’t look anymore recharged from their week’s break than a normal weekend. He suspected return-to-campus celebrations from the previous night might have been to blame.

Phil was taking his lunch in his office when, without preamble, Nick Fury burst through the door. He sat on the chair usually occupied by a student, laced his fingers over his stomach and leaned back. He silently examined Phil with his one eye.

Phil decided to return the lack of greeting and ignored him, going back to his salad and issue of World War II magazine.

"Well, I’ll be damned, the tittle-tattle’s true. You did get laid over break."

Phil’s fork paused halfway to his mouth, a piece of walnut fell silently onto his blotter. With a steady hand, he put the fork down and look Nicked squarely in the eye. "You shouldn’t listen to rumors. You know liberal arts students: active imaginations."

"That’s why I had to come and see for myself. Little lines at your eyes less deep, eased posture, wistful gaze."

"I’ve never gazed wistfully in my life," he protested

"Overall looking less like a lonely sucker."

"Thanks," Phil gritted out.

Nick chuckled, slightly evil. "Can’t deny it. I already spoke to May. Told me you finally hooked-up with the beefcake neighbor."

"He’s not a- You shouldn’t-" Phil felt his ears heating, and Nick just laughed harder.

"It’s good you’re back in the saddle, Phil."

"I’m not- There was no ‘laying.’" Nick gave him a disbelieving tilt of the head. Phil huffed. "I don’t want to rush anything. Not after last time."

"You’re already rushed, Phil." He stood. "But you can be in a hurry and still be careful at the same time. In fact, if anyone can do that, you can."

After lunch was Phil’s Intro class, filled with freshmen. He handed back the midterm papers, and the reactions were as diverse as the papers themselves. Skye, who had a ‘See me during office hours’ note on her last page looked up at him with a guilty glance. They both knew she could do better. Darcy, who had received the same note just shrugged and crammed the paper into her bag. Antoine was beaming over his well-deserved good grade.

It was the end of the day when he had another visitor. He hadn’t heard the door open, nor footsteps in the hall. He nearly started when he looked up from packing away his folders and laptop, and found Natasha standing in front of his desk. "Ms. Romanoff," he greeted her, completely collected.

"Mr. Coulson." She lifted an eyebrow, not buying it. She was wearing all black, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"Is this a conversation I should be sitting down for?" He asked.

"What kind of conversation are you expecting?"

"One with shovels involved."

Her lips quirked, and her arms fell to her sides. "I don’t think I’ll need a shovel. I have it on good authority you’re a gentleman."

Phil blushed. "I only try to do my best."

"Then perhaps give credit to Clint for doing the same."

Phil’s brow furrowed. "I’m not-"

"I’ve known Clint for over a decade." She gripped the back of a visitor chair and leaned on it. "He’s a good man who never hurts anyone intentionally. You don’t have to worry about him suddenly turning out to be a psychopath."

It was a common enough reassurance, but the exact wording was suspect. He narrowed his eyes, and frowned at the glint in hers. "Hang around the psychology department much?"

She smiled. It made him nervous. "No, but I have met such interesting people at the gym I joined." She turned and left as silently as she came.

He tried not to physically gulp, now aware that his and Clint’s fears about their best friends were realized.

Phil had just gotten home and was unlocking his back door when Clint’s truck pulled in next door. Clint jumped out.

"Whoa! Hey wait!" He shouted at Phil, running over.

"What’s wrong?" Phil asked, eyes widening at Clint’s urgency.

Clint jumped up on the porch, grinning, and little out of breath. "Nothing! I’ve watched you come and go for months in your sharp little professor suits; all look but don’t touch." Clint eyes roamed over him eagerly, drinking him in. "But I can touch now, yeah?" His fingers twitched, anticipating.

"Of course you- Oof!" Clint didn’t wait to put his arms around Phil’s waist and pulled him close.

"Look at you," Clint breathed against his neck. "So sexy. Bet all your kids write ‘love you’ on their eyelids."

"Hardly." Phil had his hands under Clint’s jacket, stroking up his back.

Clint pulled away from his neck to bring his lips up to Phil’s "I would. Then come around your office to see if there was _anything_ I could do to improve my grade."

Phil swallowed and licked his lips. "That would be highly inappropriate."

Clint laughed. "And he’s utterly ethically upstanding. Captain America would be proud." He kissed Phil in a way that was inconsistent with how their hips were pressed together, with Phil practically pinned to the side of his house.

And Phil was starting to consider Nick’s advice about rushing and being careful not being mutually exclusive when it was Clint that backed away first. "I need to get my tools put away, and I really need a shower." He made a show of giving himself a sniff. "I’ll call you after dinner?"

Phil nodded, not wanting to say that he was liking the way Clint was smelling, because maybe that would’ve been a bit weird. Clint gave his hand a squeeze and hopped off the porch. Phil watched him walk away and considered maybe he needed a shower now, too.

\----

The trees, vibrant and bright only a week ago, were turning more brown and burnt, falling in brittle droves at the slightest breeze. The day was unseasonably warm. Clint and Phil left their jackets in the cab of Clint’s truck when they arrived at the pumpkin patch.

Being a Saturday, coupled with the nice weather, the farm was extremely busy. At least it meant that, unlike their previous outing, the clientèle was more diverse. They weren’t the only childless adults there. They held hands as they walked through the field, occasionally having to make way for hand wagons filled with tots and gourds.

Phil was happy to just be pulled along as Clint scanned the rows of vines, apparently seeking something to fit his particular criteria. He brought a hand up, shading his eyes as he squinted into the distance. He let out a triumphant shout, gripped Phil’s hand tighter, practically jogging towards his target.

They finally stopped after several yards. Phil was amazed that Clint spotted it from so far off.

Clint crouched down to turn the rather sizable pumpkin over. Phil crammed his hands in his pockets, resisting the temptation Clint was presenting by bending over. "This is the one, Phil!" He declared, brushing the mud off. He grinned over his shoulder at Phil, looking as excited as the children running around them.

Clint grabbed the stem to pull it off the vine, but immediately jumped back with a yelp. "What the fuck? Since when were pumpkins prickly?" He rubbed his hand against his jeans, frowning. "Kids are going to seriously hurt themselves."

"That’s what the grown-ups are for."

Clint stuck his tongue out at him. He then muttered some threats to the big, orange gourd, pulling the sleeve of his purple Henley down over his hand and grabbed again.

"Yeah, gotcha, you bastard."

Phil bit his lip and looked around for any small children within hearing distance of all of Clint’s swearing. Thankfully, there was only a couple of teenagers behind them, clearly enjoying the same view Phil had been. They noticed him noticing and they gave him a thumbs up before moving on.

Clint lifted the rotund pumpkin, his impressive arm muscles flexing under his snug shirt. Phil shivered, and not from the chilly breeze that came through.

"Are you okay carrying that back to the weighing area by yourself?" Phil thought of flagging down the tractor-pulled carriage that circled the patch.

Clint tilted his head, cracking his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Nah, I’m good."

Phil had a crazy notion that Clint was trying to impress him.

Clint’s steps never faltered under his burden, but he did groan with relief once he set it down on the scale. Phil and the young lady at the check-out counter had matching expressions, eyebrows raised and jaws slightly dropped, as the digital display stopped at nearly sixty pounds. Clint looked smug.

It made Phil feel a little ridiculous, standing next to him with a Baby Pam he grabbed from a nearby crate in each hand. Clint even gave them a confused look when Phil set them down on the counter. "Aren’t those a little small for carving?"

"You’re right. They’re for baking recipes."

It was Clint’s turn to go wide-eyed. He groaned and draped himself over Phil’s back, arms snaking around his waist. "Oh, babe, please tell me that means what I think it means."

Phil felt his entire face heat, afraid Clint was on the verge of doing something indecent at the promise of more scones. "You’re scandalizing the clerk," he admonished, slapping lightly at the hands clasped over his middle. Clint pulled away and sheepishly apologized to the young lady who was looking at bit uncomfortable as Clint had continued his display.

"Do you want a wagon to take to your car?" She asked, after ringing them up.

Clint gathered his pumpkin back up in his arms and winked. "No thanks, I got this."

Phil thanked her, grabbed his own pumpkins and followed Clint back to the truck.

Phil quickly dropped off his purchases at home before going over to hold the door open for Clint as he once again displayed his pumpkin-carrying prowess.

It was the first time Phil had been inside the house since old Mrs. Wilson passed away over ten years ago. Not only had Clint removed the bluebird wallpaper in the kitchen, he had removed an entire wall, opening the space right up into the living room. The hardwood floors looked refreshed, and Clint already had newspaper spread out over one section. It’s there Clint dropped his armful. Clint looked down at it, hands on his hips, his smile one of satisfaction. He turned to Phil still grinning. "Right. Let’s carve this fucker up!"

Phil hadn’t carved a jack-o-lantern since he was a teenager. He sat cross-legged on the newspaper, butcher’s knife in one hand. He plunged it into the top of the pumpkin and started cutting a square. Across from him, Clint had a black sharpie, his tongue sticking endearingly out as he drew the lines for the face he wanted.

Phil finished his cutting and grabbed the spiny stem, giving it a hard pull. The top came off with the squelchy sound of tearing flesh. The underside trailed out long, slimy strings of pumpkin innards. Clint was watching with his nose scrunched up in disgust. "This isn’t your first time carving pumpkin, is it?" Phil asked.

Clint’s face fell, he cast his eyes down and shrugged a little. "Maybe it is."

Phil mentally kicked himself. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t presume that everyone has the same childhood experiences."

Clint shrugged again, but looked back at Phil. "It’s okay. But yeah, I didn’t grow up with a lot of typical traditions."

Phil ached to pry further, but Clint went back to his concentrated drawing, so he didn’t. He went back to his own task. He pulled over a colander he had to go back to his own kitchen for and dumped the pumpkin goop in it so he could wash the seeds out later. Such a large gourd meant a lot of seeds and stringy insides. Clint had long finished his design and happily reached in with his bare hands to help. Phil had only just noticed the wicked gleam in Clint’s eye before a handful of pulp was flung at his face.

Phil spluttered and wiped it away. Clint was laughing uproariously, hands clutching his stomach. Phil set his jaw and grabbed a fistful of orange glop and gave back as good as he got. Clint just laughed harder as he pulled it out of his hair and flicked some back at Phil. Phil was laughing, too. He hadn’t let himself go and just have fun, be silly since… Well, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so light.

They finished cleaning out the inside of the pumpkin before they bothered with themselves. They took turns in the tiny (recently retiled) bathroom to wash the drying orange stains off their skin and hair. Phil stationed himself in the kitchen, preparing the seeds for baking. Clint was sat back on fresh newspaper, carving along the lines he previously drew. It was a simple, traditional design: triangles for the eyes and nose, the mouth a grinning row of sharp teeth. Once finished, Clint spun it around and showed it to Phil with such pride.

"It’s perfect," Phil told him.

"Almost."

Now hollowed, the jack-o-lantern was lighter than when it began life. Clint moved it out to his front porch. He lit a votive candle (Phil had suggested buying a pack of LED flickering tea lights, but Clint insisted on authenticity) and carefully placed it inside. Phil fitted the top back over and joined Clint at the bottom of the stairs. It was dark outside, and the flame flickered bright, ominously displaying Clint’s carving.

Phil put an arm around Clint’s waist. Clint in turn rested his head on Phil’s shoulder.

Clint said, "Now it’s perfect."

\----

Phil texted one word. There was no reply, but Phil watched as Clint's back door almost immediately slammed open and Clint bounded over the driveways. Clint didn't bother knocking (he and Phil had exchanged spare keys anyway) in his rush to get to the kitchen.

Phil was prepared with a placte held out in front of him. Clint skidded to a halt, almost knocking the plate out of Phil's hands as he grabbed for its warm contents. He shoved half of a scone into his mouth and moaned, eyes rolling back. "I'm gonna fucking marry you," Clint said, clearly not knowing what he was saying, drunk on pumpkin pastry.

Phil enjoyed Clint's enjoyment. He steered him towards the table, lest Clint's knees go weak in his state of bliss. Phil poured him a cup of coffee and joined him, setting the plate between them. Clint took his last bite and washed it down with the coffee. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and grinned at Phil. "Seriously though, how do you not get proposals left and right when you give people this?"

Phil cleared his throat and tightened his hands around his own mug. "I don't normally receive such extreme reactions to my cooking."

"Their loss." He tore a piece off another. His tongue slipped out to clean wayward crumbs from off his lips, and Phil suddenly remembered how colorfully Clint had described his scones to Natasha. He averted his eyes and crossed his legs.

Clint was still making happy little sounds though, not helping. "Mmm..." He finished his second whole scone before he was able to form full sentences again. "I'm glad you texted me. For more than food." He started rubbing at the back of his neck. "I got to talk to you about the Stark Halloween party."

Tony Stark was one of the college's most prestigious and prominent alumni. A local billionaire businessman, he had a dorm hall named after him and provided a self-titled scholarship that covered full tuition and housing until graduation to its winner (this had actually been a historic year where the scholarship was given to _two_ incoming students: Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz). Beyond that, Stark also donated copious amounts annually for whatever programs and projects on campus needed it most.

He also hosted holiday parties inviting staff, faculty, and other alumni to his mansion. Fury was not fond of those parties, but as dean, he needed to keep a good relationship with Stark. The only thing that made them at all tolerable to Nick was to drag Melinda and Phil with him every year.

"What about it?" Phil asked.

"Nat's asked me to go with her." His shoulders hunched and he looked up warily through his lashes.

Phil frowned in confusion. "Okay. Sounds good."

"Okay? You don't mind?"

"Natasha's just as deserving of your time. And we'll still see each other there anyway. Why should I mind?"

The tension in Clint's shoulders eased and his expression cleared into relief. Phil felt a flare of anger again at the "impolite" people in Clint's past. "Besides, Mel already picked the matching costumes for us and Nick over a month ago. I don't think we'd be able to come up with one for you on such short notice."

Clint's eyes brightened further. "Matching costumes? What are you going as?"

Phil shook his head. "Nope. You'll see soon enough."

\----

A dubstep mix of "Monster Mash" was blaring through the halls of Stark Manor. Phil arrived with Melinda and Nick in Fury's SUV. Nick grumbled at the extravagance, including _added_ creaking to the main gate and the long driveway being lined with jack-o-lanterns all glowing with Stark's face.

"Have to admit that's impressive," Melinda said, pointing out the life-size Phantom figure hanging from the foyer's crystal chandelier.

Staff hired for the event led them to the ballroom. The large space was already heavily occupied with all sorts of colorful masks and costumes. Phil recognized coworkers, former students, and a few other affluent members of the community. Every surface was accented with spider webs. One whole wall was lined with a buffet table covered in indulgences of the holiday: gummy candy body parts, caramel apples, candy corn, mini pumpkin pies, and a variety of chocolate bars. The centerpiece was a fogging witch's cauldron filled with tiny bottles of colorful booze. Waiters stealthily moved through the crowd with their trays of glasses with skeleton arm stems.

Melinda jabbed Phil through his thick blue jacket. "There's Natasha and Clint."

He looked over eagerly to where she motioned. Phil nearly swallowed his own tongue. Clint was wearing a sleeveless, brown, leather tunic with matching trousers. He had bow and quiver over his shoulders, but Phil only noticed those incidentally. Natasha was next to him, also in leather, but with a bright, red, silk shirt under her tunic.

The duo spotted Phil and his friends nearly at the same time. Natasha smirked, grabbed Clint's (bare, large, gorgeous) arm and pulled him towards them. As they got closer, Phil could see some green detailing in Clint's outfit.

"Should I get a napkin for your drool?" Nick said into his ear (whispering was impossible).

He deemed not to acknowledge him and just continued to watch Clint and Natasha's approach.

They stopped and Natasha gave a courtly bow. "Will Scarlett and..." head still down, she poked Clint who was staring at Phil much in the same way Phil was staring at him.

"Oh! Sorry." He mimicked Natasha's graceful pose. "And Robin Hood at your service."

"Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos at yours," Melinda returned. Her hair was curled and pinned up in classic 40s style, lips bright red. She was in a brown bomber jacket with SSR pins on the lapels. Nick, also in period military clothes, was wearing a bowler with a corporal's chevrons on its front. He was also sporting a big red mustache. Phil assumed Nick chose the identity to see if anyone was actually ballsy enough to call him "Dum Dum." Phil completed the set in his dark blue, double-breasted jacket.

A jacket Clint was now touching a lot, running his hands along his shoulders, and fiddling with the large buttons. "Bucky, huh? Thought you'd be the good Captain."

Melinda snorted. "He doesn't feel 'worthy' enough."

Phil bared his teeth at her in warning. Even if it was the truth.

"Where'd you get bows and arrows like that?" He asked, turning back to Clint.

"I made them." Clint shrugged like it was no big deal.

"You _made_ them?"

Natasha was frowning. "You haven't seen Clint's bows and arrows yet?"

"I keep them in the bedroom," Clint admitted, half-muttering.

There was a moment where everyone let the implication sink in. Natasha's lips pursed, Melinda rolled her eyes, and Nick outright declared, "I cannot deal with you."

"Who's dealing what here?" An exceptionally loud and pompous voice overtook the corner of the room their small group had commandeered.

Nick's expression became more disgruntled at the appearance of Tony Stark himself. He had an arm around the college's head of the science department. Bruce Banner was in a lab coat, and his hair was mussed. Later in the evening, he told Phil he was dressed as a mad scientist. Phil declined to comment that he looked no different from every other time Phil had seen him.

"Hello, new meat!" Stark grinned at Natasha and Clint, he ran appreciative eyes over both of them.

"This is the latest addition to our dance department," Nick introduced Natasha.

"And you're just the boyfriend?" Stark asked Clint.

" _His_ boyfriend, actually," Clint pulled Phil against him with a proprietary arm.

Stark's eyes went wide. "Professor!" he crowed with joy. "Good on you. Here I was afraid you were thinking of joining a monastery after all this time."

Oh, God, why was Stark even thinking about Phil's sex life?

Thankfully, Stark spotted another group to harass, pulling a surprisingly not-protesting Dr. Banner with him. Phil did his social duty and mingled, chatted, danced with Melinda and Natasha (who made him feel like three-footed ox in comparison). He hadn't actually had a chance to just chat with Associate Dean Hill in quite some time, and tore himself away from the dance floor to do so when he spotted her in her Captain Janeway costume.

"So, that's your boy, huh?" Maria asked, gesturing with her drink. "Well, he doesn't already _look_ like a creep, so that's an improvement."

Phil grabbed a drink of his own from a passing waiter and scowled. "You know, everyone's been telling me I need to get over what happened with John and the ensuing trust issues, but it's kind of hard when the same people keep bringing him up."

Maria pursed her lips, contrite. "Sorry. It's because you're our friend, and love you. Your pain and anger is ours, too. I hope that malleable, sharp-cheeked twink he's hooked up with makes him miserable," she grumbled, taking another drink. "And everyone can see Clint makes you happy. So we're happy. We want you to be happy."

"I am. I want to be." He gave her a small smile.

She let it go at that.

"Phil!" Pepper Potts, in white feathers as the Swan Princess, put her arms around him. "It's not fair that I only see you on holidays like a distant relative."

"It's good to see you, Pepper," he said, returning the embrace.

"So," her eyes glinted and she smiled in the way most of Phil's acquaintances had all night. He knew what was coming. "Is it true?"

He didn't roll his eyes. Pepper was not a woman you rolled your eyes at. "Yes, I am seeing someone. Yes, it is the sleeveless Robin Hood with the new dance teacher. No, I have no reason to believe he'll turn out to be a manipulative asshole."

Her face crumpled in concern. "What kind of conversations have you been having? While I _am_ happy and proud of you, what I wanted to ask was if he was available for some work next month? Tony's been talking about needing a 'Man Cavern.'"

"Cavern?"

"A man cave, but much, much larger."

"I think having a project once the snow starts is something he'd quite like. He's told me work slows then."

"Perfect! I won't bother him now. Business for business time. This is a party!"

Inevitably he found himself alone with Clint without having to seek him out. They just naturally drifted towards each other as the evening wore on.

"So, are those uniforms one-hundred percent historically accurate?" Clint asked and took a drink of something bright green.

"Of course. As if I'd allow anything else."

"Perfectionist," Clint accused fondly.

"What about yours? Doesn't look like Party City or something stolen from our theater department."

Clint plucked at the lacing over his chest. "Nope. Nat made them."

"And you make your own bows and arrows." Phil was still in awe.

"I don't make all my bows," he said, hands coming up to clutch at the thick string against his chest.

"Do you hunt?"

Clint shook his head. "I don't want to use my stuff to take a life."

It seemed like such a serious and important part of Clint's life for Phil to not have uncovered it yet, and couldn't stop the questions. "What are they for, then?"

"Ren faires mostly. There is a range close to town. I go sometimes to keep in practice."

"Is that how you and Natasha met, the faires?"

Clint laughed. "Not a professor for nothing. Yeah, she sells some clothes and teaches period dance. And I do archery exhibitions. We still try to work at least one each summer. Hey!" Clint's expression brightened. It had gone a little dark as he thoughts turned to the past. Not that Phil had a sense that it had anything to do with meeting Natasha, but rather his life leading up to that moment. But that was a conversation for a much different place and time. "You'll come with us next year, yeah? Nat's already looking into a couple faires hosted in the summer nearby."

Next year. The summer. Clint asked with such confidence and certainty. Phil had been taking their only three-week-old relationship one day at a time, taking nothing for granted or as a guarantee. He was not willing, perhaps not brave enough, to be thinking long term. They hadn't even slept together yet and Clint was all but declaring commitment, planning on them being together months down the line.

He must have stared silently at Clint too long. Clint cast his eyes down. "Or maybe Ren faires aren't your thing. But you should give it a try. They're really fun."

Phil grabbed his hands and waited until Clint looked him in the eye again. "I would love to go with you." He licked his lips and swallowed. "I _will_ go with you."

"Hell, Phil, you're acting like I just asked you to prom."

"You should come home with me."

"Or, skipping prom and going straight for-" Phil tugged on Clint's hands, pulling him to him. He kissed Clint in a way he hadn't let himself yet: Lips parted, tongues stroking, hands clutching desperately. Phil held onto Clint's arms, gliding his palms over hot skin, squeezing the firm muscles he had long admired from afar.

Clint's hands had started high on Phil's back, but were traveling lower."Fffffuck," Clint swore, reluctantly pulling away, but not letting go. "Nat drove me here."

Phil groaned, not in a good way. "And I carpooled with Nick."

"I bet there are plenty of empty rooms here."

"No, no. I am not having sex in Stark's house. I will not give him the satisfaction."

"What about my satisfaction?" Clint shifted his hips to make his point very firmly clear.

Phil pulled his cellphone from one of the pouches in his belt.

"You even make anachronisms hot," Clint whimpered.

"I'm calling a cab."

"No need, lust birds!" Phil wanted to clock Stark for his extremely unwelcome intrusion. "Got cabs lined up outside. No one _has_ to be a designated driver at my parties. Go and get it, Professor! I'll give your regrets to the rest of the Going Commandos and the Merry Men." Stark winked and gave Phil's butt a quick pat on his way past.

"I almost don't want to leave now, out of spite."

"Aw, Phil, no," Clint whined persuasively.

\----

"Nat is going to kill me." Clint pouted at the torn stitches in his leather tunic.

"I'm sure as hell not going to get my deposit back." Blue buttons were scattered over the floor, a couple never to be seen again. And yeah, that stain on the trousers wasn't coming out.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> This has been probably the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written. A lot of places are based off my hometown, college (in my hometown), and surrounding areas. All date activities are based off personal experiences (but not with a hot boyfriend alas), and I just really, really love Autumn. It's my favorite season. I hope I captured it's awesomeness for you.


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